Trouble Comes To Town
by Tipper
Summary: An old fashioned gunfight, with a twist. This should take place several days following the events in the episode One Day Out West. The boys are still getting to know each other and the town is still getting to know them.


Title: Trouble  
Author: Tipper  
Disclaimer: not mine.  
Notes: Answer to Jen' Bs challenge – a story inspired by a song (but not a songfic). I used "Trouble" by Pink. Believe it or not, it was the line "and my fingers are bejewled" that did it--kept thinking about that jade ring and that ruby ring Ezra wears occasionally.

Description: Just a short character story, and an homage to the romantic Wild West. This should take place several days following the events in One Day Out West. In other words, the boys are still getting to know each other and the town is still getting to know them.

* * *

_Conklin: "We don't want your kind in this town. You bring nothing but trouble!"  
__Vin: "Can't be worse than what you already got."  
_(from One Day Out West)

* * *

Ezra looked down at his right hand, at the ruby ring, and blew on it, shifting to polish it against his jacket. A moment later, the same hand ran down the front of the front of his richly embroidered maroon waistcoat, patting the wad of bills in the pocket. Licking his lips, the hand then drifted further down to his right hip, brushing back the tails of the handsome red coat to reveal the black Remington strapped to his right thigh.

He rested his hand on the gun, and smiled, his gold tooth flashing in the sunlight.

The other man's eyes narrowed, having watched the whole performance with a sneer.

"Well, Mr. Morrison," Ezra drawled, "your move."

* * *

Mary heard the commotion in her shop, saw the gathering folk, and knew. She was outside in moments, wiping her ink stained hands on her apron. It didn't take long to suss out what had happened and was happening from the gossiping townsfolk around her.

Ezra Standish and Shepherd Morrison, another fairly recent resident of Four Corners, were facing each other in the street outside the saloon. Morrison had—after losing the bulk of his money at the poker table—accused Ezra of cheating at cards. Ezra responded by, at first, belittling him, and then outright laughing in Morrison's face. Morrison naturally took affront. He called Ezra out. Ezra had obliged with a smile.

Everyone in town knew by now that Ezra was fast with his fists, his show in the saloon before he'd ridden out to the Seminole Village with the others told them that, but it was the first time they'd seen him draw down on someone. Morrison, on the other hand, no one knew at all.

A few of the townsfolk stayed inside, either concerned about stray bullets or simply refusing to watch another killing. The rest—which was most of the town—crowded the boardwalks, leaning against posts and railings. Some stood on barrels and soapboxes to see over heads, others crouched down under hitching posts. The whispers grew amongst the swelling crowd, as folks considered possible outcomes and a good number started making bets. The general expression on people's face, though, was curiosity.

Fact was, folks just weren't sure whose side to be on.

Mary wrung her hands, her lips tightly pressed together. She looked around, trying to find Chris amongst the gathering.

Her eyes lit on Vin Tanner first, leaning against a post about ten feet from Ezra's back. His face was expressionless. He also didn't look like he was going to interfere, as both arms were crossed over his chest. He hadn't even unhooked his Mare's Leg.

She ground her teeth together and looked past him to the front of the jail.

Buck stood there, one hand gripped firmly around JD's arm. The kid was arguing with his mentor, but Buck was clearly not listening as JD tried to pry the grip loose.

Well, Mary thought, at least I'm not the only one....

She looked farther, to the church. Josiah was standing on his roof. He had a hammer in one hand, held over his head to block the bright sun, the other was holding onto the steeple, keeping him steady. He was watching, but like Vin and Buck, didn't appear inclined to do anything.

Her eyebrows rose as she saw Nathan also up there, sliding down the roof towards the ladder. He looked to be in a hurry. But was he moving to stop the fight...or just to deal with the aftermath?

"Well?" Ezra said, cocking his head to the side, drawing Mary's attention back to the scene on the street.

"You think yer slick, doncha," Morrison swore.

"Compared to you? Yes."

"Well, it ain't gonna save ya. I've killed yer type a dozen times over. Yer gonna die, and I'm gonna drink my health o'er your body."

"Really. My, my," Ezra smiled again, "how poetic."

"You betcha. I gots a poet's soul, my mamma says."

This earned a chuckle from the gambler, and Morrison frowned. "Did you know, Mr. Morrison," Ezra's smile widened, "that most great poets die young?"

Morrison's face clouded further, and his hand gripped his gun more tightly. Ezra kept his loose.

Suddenly, Morrison straightened up, and his hand went away from his gun. He was looking over Ezra's shoulder, showing a hint of fear for the first time.

The gambler's expression showed puzzlement for a moment...until he heard the jangle of spurs walking up behind him. Over in front of the Clarion, Mary sighed in relief.

Ezra glanced to the side, and then back at Morrison as soon as the black outfit came into view out of the corner of his eye.

"Ezra," Chris drawled.

"Mr. Larabee."

"You need anything?"

"Not at the moment."

Chris gave him a tiny nod. "Okay then. See you later."

Ezra nodded, his eyes still on Morrison. "Mr. Larabee...." Chris stopped, and Ezra's eyes flicked to him. "Remind me to buy you a drink when I'm done."

The tiniest smile lit on Chris's lips.

Mary stiffened, watching in shock as Chris stepped between the two men, gave Morrison a look, then kept moving. He strode up onto the boardwalk in front of the saloon, barely noticing as the people there practically climbed over each other to get out of his way, and pushed his way through the batwing doors. In moments, he was gone, almost as if he'd never been there, hidden once more in the shadows.

Morrison stared after him a moment, then looked back at Ezra. The gambler's eyebrows lifted.

"I'm getting bored, Mr. Morrison."

"Fine," Morrison snapped. "Let's see jest how good ya are!"

Fast as a rattler, the stranger grabbed for his gun with his right, his left flying up to push back the hammer.

In far less time, Ezra engaged the derringer and fired.

* * *

Morrison gasped, his right hand dropping the gun, grabbing at his bleeding arm. He turned surprised eyes to the gambler, who was smiling back.

"You cheated!" Morrison screamed. "That ain't fair! You cheated!"

"Fair?" Ezra repeated. "You wanted this to be fair?"

"Hell yes! You cheated!"

"Mr. Morrison, you already called me a cheat once...." Ezra pushed the derringer back up his sleeve, walking up to the other man who was now bent half sideways to the right, still gripping his arm where it was bleeding through his fingers. "And now look at you." He reached down and picked up the man's dropped gun with his left hand. "If I were you, I wouldn't do it again."

"You slimy, low-down, no good drifter, why I oughta—"

Ezra socked him with a sharp right-handed punch, sending Morrison flying backwards into the dust. Morrison gasped as he landed hard on his back, the pain in his arm fading as the bones in his skull rang with the blow, his eyes blinking to clear the fuzz from his vision. The gambler walked forward, stepping into Morrison's line of sight and blocking out the clear blue sky that the stranger had been focusing on. There was nothing but contempt on the gambler's face now.

"I do not cheat at cards, Mr. Morrison. You are a terrible player; you made it easy to beat you. I am also very good with a gun. However, I don't like to gamble with my life unless I have no choice. You called me out because you were pretty sure you were faster than me. Maybe you are, but, frankly, I saw no reason to find out." His eyes narrowed. "You simply aren't worth my time."

Morrison winced, hissing in pain as he met Ezra's eyes. "Yer just yella," he spat.

Ezra smiled coldly at that, squatting down next to him, and Morrison followed him with his eyes. The gambler let the red coat open enough for Morrison to see the Colt under his left arm, which, along with the Remington and the derringer, told the stranger more than he needed about the man staring him down. Ezra's frosty smile grew.

"Mr. Morrison," he said with mock-sweetness, "if I may make a suggestion: If you don't want more trouble, you will leave now."

"Best listen to him, Mister," Vin said, materializing at Ezra's back, his Mare's Leg resting across his arms.

"This town's got enough trouble," Buck agreed, sidling up to stand on Morrison's other side with JD behind him, "don't need you adding to it." He patted his gunbelt.

"Yeah," JD added unnecessarily. Buck chuckled at that, and the kid shot him a dark look.

"I think," Josiah rumbled, walking towards them from the direction of the church, his hammer still in his left hand, stopping when he stood about a foot from the top of Morrison's head, "that Mr. Morrison may need more encouragement in that regard, brothers." Morrison had to tip his head back to see in that direction, his Adam's apple shifting uneasily as an upside down Josiah slapped his hammer down onto his right palm.

"But...no, wait!" Morrison looked confused as he met Josiah's eyes, then Buck's, JD's and Vin's. "He cheated! He's the one that's trouble! Not me!"

"Maybe," Chris said, suddenly appearing at Morrison's feet, "but he's our kind of trouble." The tone of Chris's voice froze Morrison to his bones.

Chris looked to his left, and Morrison looked that way as well. He saw a black man watching them, his expression one of annoyance as he glared at Morrison.

"Nathan," Chris said, "patch up Mr. Morrison here, then see he gets going."

"With pleasure," Nathan spat. Morrison's eyes widened, shifting to look at the seven men now staring down at him.

Morrison may have been slow, but he wasn't stupid.

"That's okay, Mr. uh...Nathan, I'm fine. I'm jest gonna go...." Morrison squirmed, pushing himself to his feet and trying to look as small and as harmless as possible. Ezra rose with him, but Morrison wasn't looking directly at him anymore as Josiah slapped the hammer again. "I'm going! I'm goin'!" Morrison squealed, and he proceeded to run as fast as possible away from the seven men, aiming for the livery stable. Laughter floated on the breeze behind him.

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra glanced askance at the gunslinger, a pleased smirk on his face, "I believe I promised you a drink?"

Chris grinned, clapping Ezra on the shoulder. "I think you all of us a drink, Mr. Standish." Renewed laughter from the others came with that, and seven men headed towards the saloon, all expecting to get a free drink on Mr. Morrison's lost poker funds.

* * *

Mary watched them go, still frowning at the occurrence. Her mind, though, was already piecing together tomorrow's headline: Headline - _Trouble Comes to Town – _Second line, smaller print -- _and is summarily ejected by the Seven_....No...words are too big..._and is dealt a losing hand_...better, highlights Ezra's role....And she turned and walked dreamily back into her office, pulling the pencil out from behind her ear.

And in the background, the rest of the town drifted back to what they had been doing before, deciding they were very glad these men were, for now, on their side.

* * *

The End – hope you liked it! Drop a review if you did!


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